I still love Ptolemy, but I've been giving Nat far more Bartimaeus than I've been giving Ptolemy. And that's just not fair, Ptolemy had him first...so let me begin to even the score! (I've had some that are both Ptolemy and Nathaniel thrown in and I almost always at least vaguely mention Bartimaeus having loved the poor boy...but it's been a while since Ptolemy had his own time with Bartimaeus) Unacceptable! This one's for you Ptolemy...
Oasis
The warmth of the sun makes Ptolemy feel weighted and lazy and he suspects that the djinni beside him feels something of the same sort, as different as they are.
The great rolling expanse of desert stretched out before them would be a dangerous place to be if it weren't for Rekhyt's protective presence beside him. They are far enough away from civilization that the village closest to them is nothing more then a blurry black lump that they have no interest in facing.
Ptolemy has to isolate himself like this, in the shade of the oasis, warm but not scalding like the desert around him, otherwise he'd never get any work done at all.
He's become a sort of hero to the people, he and his supposed magic. Rekhyt has warned him against it, but he simply can't stand the thought of turning them away when it is in his power to help them.
If he has to escape to the desert to get some actual work done…it is inconvenient but acceptable.
Being isolated like this has…certain advantages as it is.
He is feeling much too content to do any work now, at peace or not, so he decides to make good of these advantages, reaching out and brushing his fingers across the pad of Rekhyt's foot. The djinni is in the guise of a manservant as it usually is unless it needs to appear smaller. Rekhyt makes an effort to appear average so as not to draw attention to its true nature, but it will always be far too beautiful for that in Ptolemy's opinion. Even when it tries to add flaws to the illusion, they end up wonderful. A face that is a bit too angular becomes completely acceptable…a face any softer and rounder simply would not do. Rekhyt is a work of art, in any form, even in those thankfully sparse fits when a truly fear inspiring form is apparently in order.
The djinni shifts the foot, pretending to peer at a patch of dune grass. Ptolemy applies more pressure to the soft pad with the tips of his fingers, turning over and shifting so that he is lying against one strong thigh.
Rekhyt looks down with an amused quirk on those purposefully not quite perfect lips.
Encouraged, Ptolemy runs a hand over the tanned expanse of skin along the man's side, playing briefly with one dark nipple and wondering even more briefly, if Rekhyt feels the same stimulation he does from having the djinni touch his own nipples, as nipples are a true part of his real form and not of Rekhyt's form.
If not, the djinni still does an admirable job of mimicking the responses Ptolemy often gives to such touching. The abdominal muscles pressed against Ptolemy's knees tighten and one strong hand moves to his slender back, guiding him closer so that his head comes level to his servant's and their lips, perfect or not, can touch.
Kissing Rekhyt is so painfully superior to kissing another human being that the djinni claims to have ruined his young master. Ptolemy agrees with this whole heartedly, not the least bit upset by it. He has tried kissing humans before. Their mouths, while sometimes talented, are flat, bland and boring. Rekhyt's lips are alive with energy and pulsing power, heat and cold surging at him simultaneously, currents like crackling lightening filling his mouth and sweeping through his entire body.
Rekhyt tastes like honey and the air during a storm.
He's asked, a few times, what his own lips are like, why the djinni finds any pleasure in having them as he suspects they are just as bland and mortal as the ones he has tried.
Rekhyt just smiles and shakes its head at this, kissing him quickly to push the question from his mind, enveloping him in the wonderfully inhuman feeling of kissing the djinni until Ptolemy has forgotten.
Until later of course, Ptolemy never forgets anything for very long, especially an unanswered question.
He supposes now would be a good time to ask, as it is the subject of the moment. He finds himself unable to, however. When he pulls back and parts his lips to form the question, Rekhyt pushes him backwards into the silky dune grass and shifting sand, pressing their bodies together. Those lips are freezing and burning and that tongue is equally overwhelming as it pushes past Ptolemy's own slightly bruised lips to ravage his mouth and steal his senses at the same time.
Flexible fingers trace and press nonsensical patterns against his sides, sending blissfully violent shivers throughout his entire body.
As long as Rekhyt is willing, Ptolemy supposes that is a question that perhaps he will leave unanswered.
I know you've all gotten used to Bart/Nat again and again from me...hopefully at least some of you love this pairing too? As I've said before, I love both and in the time line of my perverted fangirl brain, as far as this series goes, they both happened.
Review Please?